


Dark Paths and No Name Bars

by WheelsUpIn_Five



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Dean Winchester, Cas is only mentioned, Fist Fights, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, its only briefly mentioned though, this is just a fight scene, you could also read it as something different
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29226618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WheelsUpIn_Five/pseuds/WheelsUpIn_Five
Summary: Cas gets pushed around and Dean decides to take matters into his own hands.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Dark Paths and No Name Bars

Dean leaves the bar, pretending to stagger up the street, using every semi-stable surface to support him. A shop window reflects the blurry image of a shadow following him from across the street. 

He stops at the entrance of an alleyway, bracing his arms against the brick wall. It smells like piss and garbage. 

Alcohol’s fresh on his lips, but his mind’s still sharp. He bites back a smile as he sees his tail approach from the corner of his eye. 

It’s working. 

Getting a better look at the man’s face, Dean confirms it’s the one that pushed Cas around the night before. The one Cas dragged him away from, begging him not to cause a scene. He promised he’d be seeing them again, and he’s a man of his word. Tonight Cas isn’t here to hold him back.

He rests his forehead against the cool brick of the wall, still wet from the rain, and closes his eyes, focusing on the sound of oncoming footsteps. A hand grabs the back of his jacket and shoves him deeper into the shadows. Dean plays his part, stumbling to regain his balance. Three shadows stand behind him, blocking his exit. 

Three against one? A walk in the park.

“Woah, guys.” Dean raises his hands. “I was just playin’.” 

He takes a step back for every step they advance, luring them deeper into the alley, further from prying eyes. Nothing’s stopping him tonight. 

He stops a few feet from the back wall. There’s a dumpster to his left and a heartbeat steady in his chest. 

Two of his pursuers hang back while the bigger of the three approach him. Nobody speaks. Heavy footsteps echo off the walls. Dean widens his stance and lowers his hands, slipping them into his jacket pockets. Cool metal slips around his fingers and everything clicks into place. 

He's in his element.

His fist crashes into the man’s nose, effectively dropping him. The other two are quick to move in. A fist colliding with Dean’s jaw, knocking him off balance, the other wrenching his arm behind his back. 

Dean throws his head back, slamming it into their nose, their pained cry barely registering. He jerks his arms from their grip, his heel driving down their shin and into their foot. Dodging another punch he grabs their arm, ducking behind them, and driving their face into the edge of the dumpster. They hit the ground with a dull thud. 

The leader hangs back, watching. Dean pays no more attention to him, he’s clearly there for show.

Dean tightens his grip on his brass knuckles and catches the other across the jaw. They spit blood. A kick lands hard in Dean’s ribs, knocking the wind from him. He stumbles, hunching forwards, but quickly regains balance. The ache of his hand grounds him, the movement from the leader distantly registers.

Dean lunges forwards, taking them down at the waist, the concrete rushing to meet them. The man’s head hit the ground with a solid thud and he stills. 

Not dead, unconscious. 

Dean drags himself to his feet, his knees aching and head buzzing, copper staining his tongue. He raises his fists in front of him and plants his feet.

“Is that all you got, bitch?” He calls to the bigger of them, now standing. A knife slips into their hand. 

Dean grins. 

The leader closes the space between them, making the first move, but Dean’s quick on his feet, dodging the clumsy swipes of the blade. They’re big, but out of practice; or maybe too intoxicated to be skilful. 

Dean’s ribs burn with every breath he takes but the adrenaline fulls him. He grabs the man's wrist, driving his other palm into his elbow with a sickening crunch. The blade hits the dirty ground with a sharp clatter. 

The man’s foot collides with Dean’s shin, but without enough force to bring him down. Dean drives the man's head into his knee one, two, three times, before discarding him on the floor with the others. 

“Be grateful my boyfriend doesn’t want you dead.” Dean picks up the knife — a switchblade — and limps away, pocketing it along with his brass knuckles. He doesn’t look back.

He pulls his leather jacket close to his body, sheltering from the bite of the wind, and cradles his ribs. Blood dusts his knuckles and trickles from his nose, drying thick on his skin. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. 

He needs to get back to their motel before Cas starts to worry. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> This was just a fun exercise for me to practice writing fight scenes, I hope it's okay 
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated (as well as constructive criticism!!)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @wheelsupin-five


End file.
